Monday, December 16, 2013

Truant from the world he went

From 'Tales and Verses' by C. James Gwyllyn (1871-1914)
Truant from the world he went
into a churchyard outside Kent.
Business had taken him by that way
on a cold but serene December day.
An overnight snow had fallen there
and made of the place a garden fair,
white and hushed beneath the sky,
where the wind was but a gentle sigh.
Among the stones he quietly strolled
as the nearby church-bell deeply tolled.
He stopped to recline beneath an oak,
and to himself these words he spoke:
It must be peaceful underground
undisturbed by sight or sound,
a place to remember and forget,
beneath a snowy coverlet.
The fallen leaves are in repose,
a winter wind now softly blows,
but hidden under the frigid earth,
is a peace of more exquisite worth.
The weary there find lasting slumber
in bed-chambers of sturdy lumber
and in the darkness forever dream
beyond the pale world's fading gleam.
For long moments he sat there very still
then, seemingly by great force of will,
he stood and departed through the gate,
and hurried along, for he was late.

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